


Turning Her Mind Around

by Alisanne



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-15
Updated: 2016-09-15
Packaged: 2018-08-15 02:52:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8039608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alisanne/pseuds/Alisanne
Summary: Hermione just wants to do her job and go home, so how is it that Draco Malfoy is managing to be so bloody distracting?





	Turning Her Mind Around

**Author's Note:**

> **Challenge:** Written for the 2016 HP Time Travel Fest.  
>  Prompt used: #76. Prompt: Aurors Draco and Hermione fight over the Time-Turner, but instead get sent back in time to 1891. Now they find themselves babysitting an extremely mischievous 10 year old, Albus Dumbledore.
> 
> **Notes:** Thanks to the mods for their endless patience, and to my beta reader Emynn for the lightning fast look-through. I changed a few details of the prompt, but I like how this turned out. 
> 
> **Disclaimer:** Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.

~

Turning Her Mind Around

~

It was clearly going to be a long day. Hermione, trying to concentrate on the new project she’d been assigned, attempted to ignore her coworkers’ off-topic conversation. Unfortunately, they were not trying to be remotely quiet. 

“…well, I think it’s a waste,” said Lavender. “He’s such nice dresser, and those shoulders!” Hand over her chest, Lavender looked like she was about to swoon. 

“Such a shame,” sighed Padma in agreement. “He’s so fit.” 

Hermione discreetly rolled her eyes. Honestly, what had inspired Padma and Lavender to join the Unspeakables? All they did was gossip about men anyway. How these two had landed such coveted positions were beyond her. 

“…don’t you think, Granger?” 

Hermione huffed. “Sorry? I wasn’t paying attention to what you were talking about, I was pondering how to divide up this project.” 

“Of course you were,” Lavender muttered under her breath.

Hermione shot her a look that made her flush and turn away. 

Clearing her throat, Padma leaned in. “We were discussing Malfoy. We think he’s hot, but that he’s also gay. I mean look at his robes, his fine dress sense. What do you think?” 

“I prefer not to think about anyone’s sexual proclivities unless they concern me directly,” Hermione said, tone prim. “And Malfoy’s do not.” 

Lavender made a rude noise. “Oh, please. You can’t tell me you haven’t once wondered.” 

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “I can and I am. Now, if you’re done gossiping, maybe we should discuss the Time-Turner project and how we’re dividing up the research. I thought I’d handle the time fracture mechanism.” 

Padma shrugged. “I’m fine with working on the time reversal circuit. That was my project when I applied to the programme.” 

“I guess that leaves me trying to replicate the properties of the sands of time,” said Lavender, sounding sulky. 

Hermione ignored her. “Good,” she said briskly. “Now all we need is someone to manage the tachyon control unit and we’re set.”

“I hear they’re going to assign us someone from another team to help,” said Padma. She winked at Lavender. “Maybe it’ll be Malfoy so we have something pretty to look at.” 

“That would be brilliant,” Lavender said, eyes shining. 

Hermione sighed. “Pretty or not, they’d best get here soon. We need to get going on this. Green wants this project fast-tracked.” 

“Which is why I hurried over,” came a familiar, drawling voice from the door. 

Hermione almost groaned. Of course Malfoy would hear her say that. “Malfoy. Lovely,” she said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “I hope you know about putting together the tachyon control unit.” 

Malfoy sauntered past her. “Doesn’t everyone?” he murmured. Smiling widely at Lavender, he said, “Would you be the person working on the sands of time?” 

“That’s me,” said Lavender brightly. “Why don’t you share my work desk with me—?”

Gritting her teeth, Hermione turned away and got to work. What did she care if Lavender and Malfoy flirted? All she cared about was finishing the project so she could get back to her own research. But as they all worked, the murmuring from Lavender’s corner of the work room began to drive Hermione to distraction. Not to mention Malfoy’s arse, which she was sure she would never have noticed but for the way Padma kept eyeing it. “I’m going back to my office,” she said suddenly, gathering up her instruments. “It’s getting…loud in here.” And without looking at anyone, she exited. 

“How rude!” came Lavender’s voice through the door before it closed. 

Hermione sighed, starting for her office. She _had_ been rather rude, but she simply couldn’t stand being in the same room as Lavender and Malfoy as they batted eyes at each other. 

Once back in her own tiny office, she laid her instruments on the desk and got to work, but it was slow going, mainly because Hermione couldn’t stop thinking about the question Lavender and Padma had asked. _Was_ Malfoy gay? She didn’t get that feeling. She snorted. Clearly her sense about such things was off given her track record with both Harry and Ron. 

Not that she cared that both her best friends were gay, but it would have been nice to know before she’d put all that effort into starting a relationship with Ron, only to have him end up with Harry. 

Leaning her elbow on the table, she stared off into nothing as she thought about her life. She loved being an Unspeakable, the research was intellectually stimulating, and she set her own work pace most of the time. The only problem was it could get a bit lonely. 

“Oh yes, I can see you’re getting a lot more work done here.” 

Wincing, Hermione spun, almost falling out of her chair. “Haven’t you ever heard of knocking?” she snapped at Malfoy, who was leaning against her doorframe.

Malfoy raised both his hands in the universal sign of surrender. “I knocked twice but got no answer. Forgive me if I wanted to check and make sure the Time-Turner circuitry didn’t eat you.” 

Hermione bit her lip, not about to give him the satisfaction of seeing her smile. “I can’t believe you’d actually care if it did,” she sniffed.

Eyebrow raised, Malfoy lowered his hands. “I didn’t say I cared. Although, if I was of the last people to see you alive, I imagine I’d be somehow considered suspect by your friends.”

Hermione inclined her head. “I’m sure you’re exaggerating. Childhood rivalries have no place in the workplace,” she said. 

“Am I?” Malfoy smirked. “And yet you still avoid me whenever possible. Why is that if not because of school?”

“I don’t avoid you.” Hermione sat up straight as Malfoy pushed away from the door and moved towards her. “What are you doing?” 

Malfoy shook his head. “Walking into the room.” Reaching into his robes, he pulled out the other Time-Turner components. “Brown and Patil are done with their bits. All we need now is to figure out how to charge the sands of Time.” 

“Right.” Work. He was there to work, not to try to mend fences or any such rot. “Of course.” Hermione cleared her throat. “Any idea on how to do that?”

“No, but I know what doesn’t work.” Malfoy placed the items on the table, the container housing the sands of time glinting in the light. “It’s the topic of my thesis, you see.” 

“Ah.” Hermione tried not to be impressed. “Do tell.” 

“To be as simple as possible, spells don’t work, but strong emotions do seem to charge them somehow, albeit not in any predictable way.” Malfoy shrugged. 

“That’s all you’ve got?” Hermione raised an eyebrow. “That’s hardly anything at all!” 

“Oh, I don’t know.” Malfoy’s smile was tight. “I think we can generate some strong emotion between the two of us.” 

Was he flirting? Hermione swallowed hard, trying to ignore the flush she could feel spreading across her face. And why was he sanding so close? “There are no emotions between us,” she snapped. 

“No?” Malfoy’s lips tipped up. “But you do think I’m pretty. I heard you say it earlier.” His voice dropped into a low timbre. “You know what I think? I think you’re upset that you find me attractive.”

Hermione’s heart sped up. “Eavesdroppers do not always hear good things about themselves,” she sniffed. “I’d be careful if I were you.” 

“I’m always careful, Granger.” Malfoy’s eyes were trained on her face as if looking for something. “Always.” 

“Is that so?” Hermione, desperate to have him back away, blurted out, “Is that why you let Crabbe drop to his death that night in the Room of Requirement?” 

Malfoy’s eyes went wide and his already pale skin went bone white. A mask slammed into place over his face as he stepped back. “Touché.” He bowed mockingly. “Perhaps I should amend my statement. I’m always careful _now_. It’s a hard lesson to learn, but, being Slytherin, it’s one I’ve taken to heart.” 

Hermione bit her lip. “I…apologise. That was uncalled for, Malfoy, and I shouldn’t have—”

Malfoy held up a hand. “I’m aware you never cared for Vince, Granger. In fact, it’s clear to me now that you don’t care for any Slytherins. So let’s just get this project done so we can be quit of each other’s company, all right?” 

Fuck. Hermione sighed. “I never said—”

“You didn’t have to.” Malfoy’s tone was cool, impersonal, the previously teasing note gone. Hermione actually missed it. “May I show you what we’ve already done?” 

“Yes,” Hermione said, feeling miserable, and as Malfoy pointed out the adjustment Padma and Lavender had made, she wracked her brain to think of a way to apologise.

“…activate the time circuitry unit here—”

“I didn’t hate Crabbe and I don’t hate you,” Hermione blurted. “I just hate the choices you made during the war.” 

Malfoy inhaled sharply. “What choices? When did I have a choice, Granger? I heard about what you did to protect your family. Did you have a choice? I did what I had to do to protect mine, too, even when I knew in my heart it was wrong. Plus, I was seventeen! With a madman living in my house! What was I supposed to do?” 

“I don’t know,” Hermione admitted. “You were in a tough spot, no doubt. But surely—”

“Surely what? I could have defied the most dangerous Dark wizard of our age? The creature who moved into my house and took over the place, who once killed a man because he dared disagree with him?” Malfoy’s chest was hexing, his hands shaking. “Well excuse me if you and perfect Potter would have managed to do the right thing under the same circumstances, but I wanted to live to see another day!” 

“Harry isn’t perfect!” Hermione shouted. “No one is! But we would have helped if you’d just—”

“Done what? Come begging on my hands and knees?” Malfoy shook his head. “Oh yes, that would have been just perfect, wouldn’t it? Seeing a Malfoy on his knees, pleading for help to save his family. You Gryffindors are such self-righteous little prigs—”

“We are not! We just have the courage to see what needs to be done and then to do it!” From the corner of her eye, Hermione had been seeing something glow for several moments, but she’d ignored it in favour of arguing with Malfoy. But it got too bright to ignore. “What on earth—?”

“Look out!” Malfoy cried, reaching for her. He managed to pull her close just before a bright, soundless flash of light blinded Hermione for a moment. 

When Hermione could see again she was on the ground, someone’s arms around her. She shifted, inhaling. A hint of herbs and fresh grass with an underlying scent of man assailed her. She hummed. 

“You all right?” 

Malfoy. She was on the ground, Malfoy covering her. Damn but he smelled good. “Fine,” she squeaked. 

Malfoy rolled off her, sitting up. A moment later he was on his feet offering her a hand which she accepted. “Salazar,” he breathed. 

Blinking, Hermione looked around. “What happened?” 

Malfoy bit his lip, the gesture distracting Hermione. “It seems the Time-Turner circuitry blew up.” 

“Damn.” Hermione sighed, eyeing the scorched bits of circuitry on the table. “Do you know how far this sets the project back? Green will be—”

“Who are you and what are you doing in my office?” 

Hermione and Malfoy turned towards the door, staring at the woman standing there. She was dressed in Unspeakable robes but didn’t look familiar. Malfoy froze.

Eyebrow raised, Hermione said, “I’m afraid you’re mistaken. This is my office.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous.” The woman strode in. “And what have you done? Why is this mess on my desk?” 

Hermione was beginning to get angry. “Excuse me, but who do you think you—”

“Er, Granger, I believe Unspeakable Wright is correct.” Malfoy grabbed her arm. “We must have made a wrong turn. Let’s just gather our stuff and go.” 

Confused, Hermione tried to shake him off but his grip was like a vice. “What in the world are you on about, Mal—?”

Forcefully steering her out the door, Malfoy waved his hand and the Time-Turner circuitry, as well a parchment, rose in the air and followed them out. Hermione was sputtering by the time they got into the hallway. “Unhand me right now, you—”

“Sorry, Ma’am!” Malfoy cried just as the door slammed in his face.

“If you don’t release me right now,” Hermione gritted out through clenched teeth, “I will hex your bits off.” 

Malfoy let her go immediately. 

“Thank you.” Hermione huffed, straightening out her robes. “Now what the hell is going on? And why did you let that woman purloin my office?” 

“ _That woman_ is Unspeakable Wright,” Malfoy said calmly, shrinking the Time-Turner components and slipping them into his pocket. He scanned the parchment quickly.

“There is no Unspeakable Wright in the department,” Hermione snapped. “There used to be an Unspeakable Wright back in the eighteen hundreds—” She trailed off. “Oh no. No, no. no.” 

“Oh yes.” Malfoy handed her the parchment, which turned out to be a memo. “I knew I’d have to convince you. Look at the date on this memo, specifically the year.” 

Hermione glanced down at the parchment. “Eighteen hundred and eighty-eight? No. Definitely not. This is some elaborate prank. And that can’t have been Unspeakable Wright.” 

Malfoy crossed his arms. “I know it’s her because the door to _my_ office is directly across from her portrait. I look at her cheerful face every day.” 

“Cheerful?” Hermione blinked. 

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Sarcasm, Granger. If you’d read about her you’d know she was one of the smartest Unspeakables ever, credited with creating the Hall of Prophecies.” 

Hermione shook her head. “But…That can’t be her. She’s dead! It’s impossible.” 

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. “Really? So it doesn’t make sense to you that while fiddling with Time-Turner circuitry we could have been thrown back in time to the eighteen hundreds?” 

Unfortunately, it did make sense. Hermione groaned. “ _If_ that’s what happened, we need to get back. Quickly. Bad things happen to wizards who meddle with time.” 

“Agreed. Our best shot is repairing the circuitry and seeing if that will take us back.” Malfoy turned away and started down the hall. “First, we find an empty office in which to work.” 

That proved easier said than done. Every office seemed occupied, and Hermione and Malfoy ended up apologising to a lot of people before too much time passed. “People are going to start getting suspicious,” Hermione muttered as they slunk away from yet another workspace. 

“Luckily we look the part,” said Malfoy. “Evidently Unspeakable robes haven’t changed that much over the centuries.” 

They turned to walk down yet another hallway, and Hermione sighed. “We may have to take our chances and leave the Department at this rate—”

As she spoke a door at the end of the hallway opened and a small figure dashed towards them. “Albus! Come back at once!” someone shouted. 

Automatically, Hermione crouched down and caught the toddler as he tried to dart past her. He was squirming but she managed to hang on to him. Within moments he quieted, giggling. 

“Thank you.” An adult figure moved closer and when they were within speaking distance, Hermione saw it was a red-haired man who, for some reason, reminded her of Professor Dumbledore. “He can be a bit spirited.”

“Papa!” The boy reached for his father and Hermione handed him over, relieved.

“Did you find him? Excellent.” Hermione spun, her heart sinking upon realising they had run into Unspeakable Wright again. “Oh, it’s you two.” Wright’s eyes narrowed. “Well, you’re clearly not busy with your own projects. I need you to look after this child while his father and I are conducting our discussions.” 

Malfoy coughed. “I don’t think—”

“Nor should you, trainee.” Wright plucked the child from his father’s arms and handed him back to Hermione. “Watch him, make sure he doesn’t get into anything he shouldn’t. And, since you clearly know the way, you may even use my office.” 

Hermione tried to balance the child in her arms. “But—”

Ignoring her, Wright turned away. “Come, Mr Dumbledore. I’m interested to hear about your invention.” 

Dumbledore? Hermione froze. Beside her, Malfoy sucked in a breath. 

Dumbledore senior patted his son’s head absently. “Be a good boy, Albus Percival,” he said. “These lovely people are going to entertain you while I meet with the nice Unspeakable.” Looking Hermione in the face, he continued, “Albus can be a bit precocious, but he’s a good boy.” Then, turning away, Dumbledore followed Wright into a room and the door closed. 

Hermione looked at Malfoy, whose eyes were wide. “Well, fu—” 

Hermione coughed and Malfoy paused. 

“I mean…Merlin,” he finally said. 

“Quite,” said Hermione. “Although one good thing. We have a space to work now.” 

Malfoy brightened. “True.” He glanced at Albus. “And all we have to do is not say anything…incriminating.” 

Albus, looking up at Hermione with a disturbing twinkle in his eyes, said, “What does incriminating mean?”

Hermione sighed. It was going to be an interesting day. And as she tried to explain what the word meant without, well, _incriminating_ herself, they made their way back to Wright’s office. 

“What is he doing?” little Albus asked, his hand tucked snugly in Hermione’s. 

“We broke a machine and we’re going to try to fix it,” Hermione said. 

“What does it do?” 

“It…um, it brought us here and we need it to get back to where we belong,” Hermione said, hoping the vague answer would work.

“Is it a mechanical horse?”

Hermione coughed. “Of a sort.”

“He’s just full of questions, isn’t he?” muttered Malfoy as he tried to piece together the Time-Turner circuitry that he’d laid out on Wright’s desk. “Maybe you could Stupefy him? Encourage him take a nap? Something?” 

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “You want me to hex Albus Dumbledore? First, it’s wrong, and second…You do realise that the more things we change here, the more it could impact our own futures, yes?” 

“The butterfly effect. Yes, I’m well aware of that, Granger.” Malfoy pinched he bridge of his nose with his fingers. “But I can’t do this alone and he’s a distraction. Plus, I need your help.” 

Hermione sighed. “I know.” Turning towards Albus, she said, “we have to do some work now. You can continue to ask questions, just don’t touch anything, all right?”

“Papa says asking questions is the sign of a good mind.” Albus watched Malfoy carefully, his eyes following his every move. 

“And your papa is a smart man,” Hermione agreed. “Ask away, just don’t touch anything. Can we rely on you to do that?”

Albus nodded. “I’ll be good, I promise.” 

“Lovely.” Hermione looked around, spotting a bench. Pointing to it, she said, “why don’t you sit over there for a bit, Albus? Make yourself comfortable.”

“All right.” Obediently, Albus walked over to the bench and, after climbing up on it, sat there and started at Malfoy with open curiosity. Hermione smiled. He really was adorable. 

Malfoy huffed. “I really could use some help here, Granger.”

“Right, sorry.” Turning away from Albus, Hermione looked to see how far Malfoy had got. “Is anything salvageable?” 

“Most of it, I think.” Malfoy pursed his lips. “Our biggest problem is going to be obtaining more sands of time. As far as I can recall, they don’t start producing it until ten years from now.” 

“Hm. If I recall correctly, they stumble across some in an obscure hole in a wall in some random office in the Department. No one knows how it came to be there.” Hermione drummed his fingers on the desk as she pondered the situation. “Who’s to say we didn’t make it and leave it behind to be found? It’s as good a theory as any.”

Malfoy’s head popped up and slowly, he smirked. “Nice, Granger. Now you’re thinking! Right, so all we need are the components, we’ll create the first sands of time, and then we’ll pop back to twenty sixteen with no one the wiser.” 

Hermione looked around, her gaze stopping on a well-stocked shelf. “Well, she did say we could use her office,” she said, nodding towards the shelf. “Let’s hope she don’t notice some items are missing when she returns.”

Malfoy grinned tightly. “Hey, if this all goes according to plan, we wont be here to chastise anyway.” 

“Point.” Hermione looked over at Albus, but he seemed to be fiddling with the buttons on his vest, so, walking over to the shelf, she ran her finger over the labels, looking for the components she needed. “We’re in luck,” she said after a moment. “Everything’s here except for pixie dust.” 

“And isn’t that a coincidence?” Malfoy drawled. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a phial. “I happen to have some pixie dust right here.” 

Hermione shook her head. “Who carries pixie dust in their robes?” 

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. “Shall I make a guess at how many shrunken books you’re carrying on your person right now in case of emergency?” 

Hermione’s cheeks heated. “Books are different.”

Malfoy shrugged. “If you say so. You’re a book nerd, I’m a potions nerd. We’re not that different.” Placing the phial on the desk, they went back to fiddling with the components, which appeared to be cooperating, and Hermione, thoughtful, measured out the ingredients she needed into a bowl. 

Maybe they weren’t so different. They were both Unspeakables, after all. And they’d taken the same classes after the war, even down to Arithmancy and Runes, which were not necessary for the Unspeakable programme. Sparing a moment to ogle Malfoy’s bum, which she had to admit, was nice, and his elegant hands, she returned to her mixing.

The ingredients in the bowl began to glow faintly and Hermione hummed. “It’s actually working.” 

“Of course it is,” said Malfoy, tone absent as he reattached the chain to the Time-Turner. “You’re brilliant.” 

Hermione blinked, looking at him in shock. “You…you think I’m brilliant?” 

Malfoy’s cheeks went pink. “I was never in doubt about your mind, Her—Granger.” 

Hermione coughed. “You may call me Hermione,” she said. “We are colleagues, after all.” 

“Only if you call me Draco.” 

And there it was, the teasing tone was back. She’d missed it. Hermione exhaled. “Seems reasonable. Draco.” 

“Draco means dragon,” said Albus from across the room. 

Hermione winced. She’d forgotten all about him! Shooting a warning look towards Draco, she turned and nodded at Albus. “You’re right, it does.” 

“What are the sands of time?” 

Hermione licked her lips. “They are what help our machine work. But it’s a secret, so don’t tell anyone, all right?” 

“Okay.” Albus swung his legs back and forth. “What’s twenty sixteen?” 

“Fuck,” Draco muttered just loudly enough that Hermione heard him. 

“That’s…um…where we come from.” Hermione coughed. “It’s…an address of sorts.” 

“Oh. We live at number twenty-five.” Albus began picking at the stitching on his vest. “Abe likes it, but Papa and Mama say we may have to move because of Ari.” 

Hermione froze. “Ari is…your sister?” she asked carefully. 

Albus nodded. “She has a lot of magic, more than normal. Papa says it bursts from her sometimes. She can’t help it though, since she’s just a baby.” 

“Then maybe moving would be best.” Hermione hesitated, then added, “It may be best to keep her away from Muggles, too.” 

Albus looked up, staring at her, and for a moment, Hermione was reminded of the Dumbledore she’d known, the master magician.

“Hermione?” Draco sounded choked. “A moment?” 

Turning away from Albus, Hermione walked over to him. “Yes?” 

“What in Salazar’s name are you doing?” he hissed. “You can’t give him advice! It could change the future!” 

Hermione huffed. “He’s just a boy, he won’t remember any of this.” 

Draco glanced over his shoulder at Albus, who Hermione could see was watching them as if they were a puzzle to be solved. “I read in his biography that he kept all his memories to re examine over and over. Who’s to say this won’t be one of them?”

Hermione went cold. “You’re right.” She caught her bottom lip in her teeth. “We should be careful. We shouldn’t say anything about the war.” 

“Or about him dying!” Draco’s mouth worked. “Much as we may want to.”

“I could change things for the worse.” 

“Exactly!” Draco shook his head. “It could even change who lives and who dies.”

“I know, I know.” It was tempting, though. “I mean, imagine if we said something about Fred or Remus or Tonks or Sirius—”

“Or Severus, or Diggory, or — Enough.” Draco shook his head. “It’d be like me warning him to watch out for poisons or young blonds!”

“Stop.” Without hesitating, Hermione clasped Draco’s arm. “Like you indicated earlier, we were all a bit trapped by the role we had to play in the war. Dumbledore believed in you and tried to save you.” 

At the touch of her hand, Draco went still. “You are a confusing woman,” he finally said. 

“Am I?” Hermione’s heart was racing as she stared into his quicksilver eyes. “How so?” 

“At times it seems as if you hate me, then at others—” Draco shook his head. 

“I don’t hate you.” And in that moment Hermione knew it was true. She didn’t hate him. And he really was quite attractive. 

He smirked, but beneath it, Hermione could see her was nervous. “Don’t say that until after.” 

Hermione frowned. “After what? Oh, mmmph!”

Draco was pressed up against her, his lips on her, his hand curved around her neck as his tongue stole into her mouth, taking both her breath and her will to resist. 

Winding her arms around his neck, Hermione kissed him back, pouring emotion into the kiss. _Not gay,_ her mind supplied even as his hand slipped from her neck to her back to cup her bum and squeeze. _Definitely not gay._

“Ew!” said Albus.

That was what bought Hermione out of the kiss, although Draco was clearly prepared to ignore their charge. He tried to follow her as she drew back. “Little ears and eyes,” she hissed, pressing against his shoulders and inclining her head towards Albus. 

Draco groaned, resting his forehead against hers for a moment. “Right.” He pulled back, dark promise in his eyes. “But this is a conversation we are definitely continuing later.” 

“Why do grownups like to kiss so much?” Albus grumbled. 

Draco, eyes still on Hermione, smiled. “Trust me, kid, your time will come.” 

Hermione smiled. “And speaking of time—”

Draco smirked, stepping back and gesturing towards the table. “Behold,” he said. 

“It’s fixed!” Hermione exhaled with relief. “All we need—”

“—are the sands of time.” Draco lifted to bowl from the desk and carefully added the sand to the glass. He looked around. “We need to hide the rest of this someplace so it can be found at the appropriate time.” 

Hermione hummed. “I know just the spot,” she said, and, taking the bowl, she walked over to the wall. Reaching for a specific spot, she grinned in triumph as a brick gave way and left a hole just big enough for the bowl. “I knew it would still be here.” 

“You clever girl.” Draco’s expression was hard to decipher from where she was, but as she stood up and approached him, it became clearer. Admiration, desire, lust. Hermione licked her lips and his eyes darkened to charcoal. 

“No more kissing!” cried Albus. 

Hermione, who’d been about to do just that, sighed. 

“We really should go,” said Draco. 

“We should watch him until they come back for him,” she reminded Draco and herself. 

“Very well.” He leaned back against the table, crossing his arms. “We can talk in the meantime. So, how long have you liked me?” 

Hermione rolled her eyes. “I’m not sure I do,” she lied. When he laughed, she relented. “Honestly, I thought you were gay, so I wasn’t about to let myself like you.” 

Draco scowled. “Gay? Me? Why?” 

“The attention to your clothes, the impeccable hair—” Hermione shrugged. “You’re not bad to look at, but I figured you liked co— erm, different bits than I have.” 

Draco’s gaze ran over Hermione slowly, making her blush. “No,” he drawled. “I like your bits just fine, actually. And I’ll prove it to you later.” 

Later. Hermione shivered. “When do you think Unspeakable Wright will be back?” 

Draco smirked. “Eager, are we?” 

Hermione rolled her eyes. “It’s probably for the best if we’re not here when she returns since we’ve used her office as a laboratory,” she pointed out.

“True.” Draco pursed his lips. 

“Who are you?” Albus suddenly asked. 

Hermione, dragging her attention from Draco, said, “We’re Unspeakables, Albus. Who we are doesn’t matter, all that matters is that you’re a good boy and you remember that everything that happened here is a secret.” 

Albus nodded. “All right, Hermione and Draco,” he said. “I won’t tell anyone.” 

“Great, he knows our names.” Draco groaned. “Maybe just a tiny Obliviation?”

“The butterfly effect,” said Hermione. She frowned. “Draco, how exactly are we getting back to our time?” 

Draco hummed. “I have a theory that I think will work. As soon as Wright comes in, follow my lead.” 

“Merlin, what are you going to—” 

The door opened and Hermione winced as Unspeakable Wright strode in, Albus’ father behind her. “…here they are, and, see, Percival? Little Albus is fine.” 

“Papa!” Albus jumped off the bench, running over to his father.

“Did you have a good time, Albus?” his father asked. 

Albus nodded. 

“Did you learn anything?” 

Albus nodded again. “But I can’t say because it’s a secret.” 

“What have you done to my office?” Unspeakable Wright was staring at the reconstructed Time-Turner on her desk. 

“Right, that’s our cue,” said Draco, and hauling Hermione against him, he spun her towards him, kissing her, his tongue sliding into her mouth with practiced ease. 

She responded as she had before, by opening her mouth wider and deepening the kiss, and the world faded. 

“…dare you do this in my office?! What are you—? Wait, come back here—!”

There was a bright, soundless explosion, and Hermione was on the floor again, Draco on top of her. This time he didn’t move. “Looks like we’re back,” he murmured, gazing down at her. 

“We could have been taken anywhere, anytime,” Hermione pointed out. 

Draco lifted his head, looked around. “This looks like your office,” he said. “Same decor I remember, same manky tapestries.” 

“I didn’t choose those, they came with the office.” 

Draco smirked. “I’m sure.” His expression went serious. “Now, about that…conversation we were having earlier—”

“Is everything all right in there?” Someone, it sounded like Padma, started pounding on the door. “There was yelling, and then an explosion!” 

Hermione groaned. “Looks like our conversation will need to be postponed again,” she said. 

“Bloody interfering—” Draco hefted himself up, extending a hand to Hermione to help her up, too. “I will be back, and the next time, we will finish this. Dinner tonight?” 

“All right.” Hermione smiled. “It’s a date.” 

“Hello?” Padma was still knocking. “Granger? Malfoy?”

“We’re fine,” Hermione called out. “Everything’s fine.” 

“Okay.” Padma coughed. “You have a visitor.” 

Hermione frowned. “Who could be visiting down here?” Opening the door, she gasped when she saw who was standing there. “Professor Dumbledore?!”

“Ms Granger, Mr Malfoy.” Albus Dumbledore, looking hale and quite healthy, stood before them. “Thank you for bringing me here, Ms Patel. May I come in, Ms Granger?” 

Somehow her limbs worked and silently, Hermione stepped aside, letting him in as Draco simply gaped. 

“I imagine it’s a shock to see me,” Dumbledore said as soon as the door closed. “After all, just a few moments ago you saw me as a child.” 

“Salazar,” whispered Draco. “We changed the future.” 

“So it seems.” Dumbledore smiled, his eyes twinkling. “But I, selfishly, must thank you for your warning all those years ago. Years later, when I looked back at that memory, one of my very earliest, it gave me enough information to prepare for what was to come. And when you arrived at Hogwarts I could say nothing as, of course, I realised you’d know nothing about our meeting. Yet.” 

Hermione’s head was starting to hurt. “Tell me that Voldemort is still dead.”

“Oh yes.” Dumbledore nodded. “And Harry killed him, brilliant lad that he was. But I did manage to save a few along the way.” 

“Who?” Draco asked. 

Dumbledore inclined his head. “I’ll leave that for you to discover. Anyway, be well, both of you.” He smiled. “And if I what I saw in my memory is correct, you have a conversation to finish. I’ll let myself out.” 

Once he was gone, Hermione exhaled. “I know it’s wrong, and we should try to find a way to fix it, but I’m actually all right with us having changed the future.” 

Draco nodded. “So am I.” He frowned. “Although I think I may go and check on some things. We’re still on for dinner, though, yes?” 

“Definitely.” Hermione smiled. “Go, I’ll see you later.”

Within an hour Hermione discovered that a lot of things had changed. Fred was alive, as were Remus, Tonks, Cedric Diggory and Snape. Harry and Snape were a couple, as were Ron and Blaise Zabini. 

Draco showed up just before five, looking relieved. “My Aunt Bellatrix is still dead,” he said. “And Vince made it.” 

Hermione hugged him. “I’m glad for you.” 

“Thanks.” 

Leaning in, Draco kissed her, and the kiss was just threatening to get out of control when someone burs in. 

“Granger, did you really break the Time-Turner components…Oh!” 

Pulling back, Draco shook his head, ignoring Padma and Lavender, who were standing there staring. “Are you ready to go?” 

Hermione bit back a chuckle. “Yes, just let me lock up my office.” 

Draco inclined his head. “I’ll wait outside.” 

Once Draco had left, Lavender said,” Wait, are you dating Malfoy now?” 

Hermione nodded. “So it seems.” 

“But…” Padma huffed. “We thought he was gay.” 

Steering them both out of her office, Hermione locked it, then turned to smirk at them both. “Oh no,” she said, tone lofty. “Trust me. He’s definitely not gay.” 

~


End file.
